


Abreaction through a Time Machine

by dualitas



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Gen, Magical Realism, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:29:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dualitas/pseuds/dualitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroko steps into his Seirin locker and finds himself in Teikou.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abreaction through a Time Machine

The first thing that pops into Kuroko’s head when he falls out the locker is this: Time is, in fact, a limited commodity. Yet it gives the impression it isn’t, going on and on like an endless spinning wheel. So when you’re given the chance to pause, jump, return somewhere in the past, wouldn’t you take it?

He’s found himself in an odd situation, alright. He’s back in his thirteen-year-old body.  
  
Sometimes the most unassuming things can throw you into the most unusual situations. This particular situation stems from Kuroko’s locker in Seirin. It had been the day before the Winter Cup finals. He’d gone to his locker to pick up the wristband he kept safely there. Something else inside was a single piece of lined paper. Scrawls of basketball training techniques — some crossed out, some not — filled the sheet. Ten of them suggestions from Midorima, seven from Akashi, five from Kise, three from Aomine and eight from Momoi. None from Murasakibara. Kuroko had looked at it for quite a while.

He was about to put it back when he tripped over his feet into the locker. He expected a painful bump to the head. What happens after an expectation is often unexpected, however. Instead of that, he found himself three years in the past. With all his sixteen-year-old memories intact.

* * *

It’s near the end of the school day. Kuroko walks through Teikou, the corridors as willfully silent as his head the last time he was at the school. He tries not to think too much, because if he does, he might really feel thirteen again. 

Everything looks a little faded, like it’s fallen out of a sepia-coloured photograph. But this is probably a function of his past memories spilling out into his current present. Perhaps time is linear because of this. If everyone could travel anywhere in time, there would be no way of differentiating past, present and future.

Before Kuroko becomes too engrossed in his musings, Aomine bursts from a corner and pounces on him. As usual. (In this current time, at least).  

“Tetsu, where were you? You snuck out of practice, didn’t you!”

“That is very unbecoming behaviour for a regular on the team,” comes Akashi’s voice, and Kuroko sees all of his previous teammates walk up to him. Momoi jumps onto Kuroko, so he has to withstand the weight of both she and Aomine.

“Don’t do it again,” Akashi admonishes him, while Midorima sniffs disapprovingly.

“Come on, let’s go, let’s go, or the dessert place is gonna close!” Kise exclaims shrilly.

“If it has, I’m going to crush someone,” Murasakibara speaks up, giving Kuroko the evil eye.

“Kise, race you there!” Aomine lets go of Kuroko and darts off. After a yelp, Kise follows him at top speed.

Everyone follows the two of them, and then starts talking at the same time, making the corridors silent no more. Kuroko doesn’t talk, but his mouth aches — with a start, he realises he’s smiling.

* * *

Their time in the cafe is uneventful. Murasakibara eats six pieces of cakes, then seven, then very nearly a whole cake. He only stops because Akashi tells him to. Midorima savours a red bean flavoured sweet soup while Akashi eats nothing. Soon, Aomine challenges Kise to an eating match and chocolate syrup ends up slathered over their table. Both get reprimanded by Momoi and Akashi, but Akashi ends up saying, “Murasakibara is the unequivocal winner of the match.” All this happens while Kuroko sips on a vanilla shake, and thinks that it’s uneventful because it’s entirely expected to happen. He has no doubt, however, that it’s burnt into his memories. He will remember because it’s something mundane that used to happen, but doesn’t happen anymore back in his present.

When he gets back home, he sees the Teikou team roster pasted on the wall right above his pillow. In the future it’s no longer there, Kuroko thinks, There is the Seirin photograph instead. He touches the corner of the roster, smoothes a tiny crease because on it, all that’s left of the pride he used to feel is a smiley face scratched in with a blunt pencil. His name is printed between Aomine’s and Akashi’s. Kuroko wonders where the marvel he used to feel for being regarded as peers, as equals, as these two basketball titans has gone. But that is the nature of admiration, after all — it always has an expiration date.

Kuroko gets on his bed and lies down, looking at the blank, white ceiling. His fingers drift toward his wrist, where the wristband is still non-existent until his future present arrives. What to do now that I’m in the past? Kuroko muses. He should make a plan, strategise like the protagonists in science fiction novels do, but for now, only one thing is predominant in his mind.

“I just want to play basketball with all of you again,” says Kuroko aloud, but only he hears his voice.

* * *

One thing which hasn’t changed in his future is how he still has to give math tuition. Now it’s Aomine, in the future it’s Kagami. What  _has_ changed, however, is that he’s more patient than he actually used to be at thirteen. Patience is gained through the weariness of time, after all.  

“Try solving this quadratic equation again, Aomine-kun,” says Kuroko.

“Screw that!” Aomine leaps up from his seat and runs to get a basketball. “Let’s play ball!”

“Aomine-kun!” scolds Momoi. “You have to complete this assignment by tomorrow or you’ll be punished!”

Kuroko remembers how he used to watch Aomine’s smile fall whenever he agreed with Momoi on homework matters. How many times did that happen in the past? Many, many times. Now, though, he doesn’t want to see it. He’s already seen Aomine’s face without a smile many, many times, too.

So he says, “Yes. Let’s get everyone to come.”

This is one thing he doesn’t remember seeing during math tuition — Aomine’s smile widens.

* * *

They play three-on-three: Aomine, Kise and Kuroko versus Akashi, Midorima and Murasakibara. Kuroko doesn’t want to think about how he slips into old habits and passing patterns with Aomine — he’s going to have to force himself to forget again, inevitably.

After the game, they sit in a circle, doing stretches and warming down because Akashi insisted on it. The evening’s arrived, and Kuroko isn’t sure if the warmth shrouding his body is from the sun’s setting rays, or something else entirely.

“Hey, who won?” Kise throws out the question, and Kuroko marvels at his carefree tone. He’s used to the Kise burdened by an ace’s responsibility, but in this moment, he doesn’t know which one he prefers.

“We did,” Akashi answers, inviting no dispute.

Aomine, however, disputes everything. “Bullshit! I’m so sure  _we_ won!”

“As if,” Midorima says. “If I recall correctly, my final three-pointer won us our eighth match. You, on the other hand, won six.”

“He’s right,” Momoi calls out. “I’ve been recording everything.”

“Your records are wrong!” Aomine protests immediately.

An argument ensues for a while until Akashi tries to put an end to it. “Who won doesn’t matter. This was just a match cobbled together by someone bored with his maths lessons, after all.”

Unfortunately for Akashi, a defensive Aomine is a noisy Aomine. The argument continues — then Murasakibara’s stomach growls and everyone laughs at the sound.

Kuroko merely stretches, a silent observer to the loudness of everything around him. Everyone actually has no idea who won, he thinks, and he wonders if it’s a good or bad thing that only he knows, for sure.

* * *

Two weeks into the past and Kuroko makes a decision. He’ll change everything, because to do nothing would make this journey meaningless. He becomes certain of this decision when Akashi announces in one practice session, “Victory should be first and foremost in everyone’s mind from now on. The championship is coming up soon, so I want all of you to be focused.”

Kuroko knows that  _he’s_  changed, but now that he’s in the past, he can preserve everyone else from changing. He’ll make sure that victory remains an afterthought, and friendship the forethought.

But how would he go about changing the past? He sits at his desk, and pulls out a notebook to jot down ideas. Out the notebook, however, falls a slip of paper. He sees that it’s a note.

_Meet me in front of the locker._

* * *

When Kuroko goes to the locker, he sees his future self. It’s like greeting an old friend. He’s taller with a broader jaw, but he’s more familiar with that appearance than his appearance now.

“Ah, hello,” Kuroko says, nodding in greeting, and his other self nods back. “How may I help you?”

His future self takes several seconds to respond, as though he’s arranging the words in his head. “Don’t do anything,” he finally states.

Kuroko blinks, and tilts his head. “Excuse me?” he says. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“But you’re thinking of doing something,” his future self replies.

“What’s wrong if I try? It can only make things better in the future. You know how badly things turned out last time.”

“You shouldn’t,” his future self says, “because to do something would mean you’ll never get past anything.”

Kuroko doesn’t reply.

“So you’re telling me to let things be,” he finally speaks, “even when I got this chance — this physically impossible opportunity — to correct everything?”

“Yes.”

“That isn’t fair.” Kuroko is vaguely aware that his volume is increasing. “It isn’t fair at all. Why should I leave things alone, when I finally got this chance I’d been dreaming of? You know I’ve been trying to beat everyone just so I can return them to the people they used to be. Then things can be like they always were. Now I’m really getting the chance to do it, and you _,_ who’s actually just me, is telling me not to do anything?”

“It’s for the good of both of us,” his future self replies. “For us to really accept that things change with time, and one of those things is people. Those things happened for a reason, and even if you keep them from happening, they will eventually happen. All of us were meant to drift apart. We can only live with this change. Just because a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity comes along to preserve something beautiful, doesn’t mean it’s the right choice to take.”

Kuroko falls silent again, for a long time. Then he says, letting a little brokenness enter his voice, because it’s him in front of him and only he can fully understand himself, “I just want to see everyone smile once again.”

There’s a pause, and it seems like during that time, both of them are picturing the same memories — a happy, but short (too short) time when the only concerns were trivial. Then his other self takes a step forward. “Don’t worry. We all do, eventually.” He hands Kuroko a photograph.

Kuroko looks down at it. Everyone’s a little older and a little taller than what he’s used to, even in the future. But for some reason, he feels a sort of familiarity. Like the people in the photo resemble the people in Teikou now. The future had a strange way of evoking the past, somehow.

Kuroko wants to thank his future self but when he looks up, there’s no one there. He doesn’t have the time to feel too surprised, though, because behind him, Kise is calling him.

“Kuroko-cchi! Are you coming? We’re gonna look at our new uniforms.”

Kuroko turns to smile at Kise, and he sees Aomine, Murasakibara, Midorima, Akashi and Momoi flanking him. They’re all about to enter the gym, just a little ahead in the corridor.

“I am. Just a second. You go on ahead.”

Kuroko waits until all of them have disappeared around the corner. Then he takes a deep breath and curls his fingers around the locker door handle.

The present is waiting for me, he thinks. In a way, everything in the present is merely an accumulation of the past. Since he’s already experienced the past twice, he’s more than ready to face his present.

He opens the door, and strides into the locker.


End file.
